“Nope,” replied the sheriff. “She got away from me onct. She’s hawg-tied now, an’ she’ll stay hawg-tied.”
Madeline thought she saw Stewart give a slight start. But an unaccountable dimness came over her eyes, at brief intervals obscuring her keen sight. Vaguely she was conscious of a clogged and beating tumult in her breast.
“All right, let’s hurry out of here,” said Stewart. “You’ve made annoyance enough. Ride down to the corral with me. I’ll get my horse and go with you.”
“Hold on!” yelled Hawe, as Stewart turned away. “Not so fast. Who’s doin’ this? You don’t come no El Capitan stunts on me. You’ll ride one of my pack-horses, an’ you’ll go in irons.”
“You want to handcuff me?” queried Stewart, with sudden swift start of passion.
“Want to? Haw, haw! Nope, Stewart, thet’s jest my way with hoss-thieves, raiders, Greasers, murderers, an’ sich. See hyar, you Sneed, git off an’ put the irons on this man.”
The guerrilla called Sneed slid off his horse and began to fumble in his saddle-bags.
“You see, Bill,” went on Hawe, “I swore in a new depooty fer this particular job. Sneed is some handy. He rounded up thet little Mexican cat fer me.”
Stillwell did not hear the sheriff; he was gazing at Stewart in a kind of imploring amaze.
“Gene, you ain’t goin’ to stand fer them handcuffs?” he pleaded.